


When You Go Down

by litsasecret



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-01
Updated: 2011-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-27 10:53:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/litsasecret/pseuds/litsasecret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy is sick of watching Adam do stupid, reckless things in order to get fucked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Go Down

**Author's Note:**

> This is what you get when a Lit who wants blowjob fic is talking to [](http://ms-bitch-to-you.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**ms_bitch_to_you**](http://ms-bitch-to-you.dreamwidth.org/) who wants more sub!Adam.

Tommy knew he didn’t have a claim on Adam, not even a little. He was pretty self-aware, and he liked to think he was a laid back sort of guy.

Sure, some nights, Adam liked to get on his knees and flutter his mascara-stained eyelashes at Tommy until Tommy sighed and let Adam suck his cock. Those were pretty awesome nights, and he had to admit that having a rock star on his knees for him was possibly the best power trip in the world.

And on other nights, they’d both collapse on the nearest flat surface, Adam’s fingers digging bruises into Tommy’s hips, drool pooling on Tommy’s chest. Those were pretty good nights too, because Tommy had nightmares sometimes, and waking up to Adam, still and strong and sure, chased them away like they’d never been.

The rest of the time, Adam would flit off to the nearest club, bar, or local watering hole, all glitterlust and sex-appeal, dragging his friends and bandmembers in his wake as he grinded on the dance floor with total strangers, let strong, scary men push him into back corners and fuck him against alley walls.

Tommy did his best to run interference, steely-eyed glare keeping the more dubious guys away, sharp attention paid to the drinks Adam was given and a steady supply of condoms in his pockets.

Tonight, he’d actually gotten between one pair of guys and Adam after noticing they had the telltale shapes of hand-guns under their jackets. Sure, it was fucking Colorado, and that was how the west had been won and all, but—guns. And this _was_ Colorado. Hate crime was still totally a thing here.

Adam had yelled at him about it the whole way back to the hotel.

Once they’d been safely ensconced behind the closed door, Tommy had let Adam pace and rant and bitch until he was sagging with exhaustion.

“You done?” he asked quietly. Adam shut up abruptly, standing stock still in the center of the room.

“You really want that? People who treat you like shit, like some sort of fucking _conquest_ they can brag about on Twitter or whatever?”

Adam opened his mouth, then, after a moment, shut it, shaking his head. “I want—“

“Shut up,” Tommy snapped. He took a step forward, then another, so he was right in front of Adam, their chests brushing with every breath.

Adam swallowed. Tommy took a deep breath, centering himself. “What about me?” Tommy said.

“I told you from the start I wouldn’t be your boyfriend,” Adam began petulantly.

“Yeah, you did,” Tommy said. Then, “Take off your clothes.”

It surprised him how quickly Adam complied.

Tommy looked Adam up and down dispassionately, taking in every freckle, every scar, bruise, imperfection. "On your knees," he said, surprised when his voice didn't crack. This was... he'd never thought Adam would let it go this far, but now that it had, his chest felt too full and his head too light to deal with this power.

Especially not once Adam obeyed, collapsing to his knees without showmanship or grace, just falling like a puppet with its strings cut.

Tommy crowded up against Adam, who, kneeling, seemed small somehow. "Tommy," he said, and there was a thread of fear in his voice, of vulnerability. "Don't hurt me," he said.

Tommy laughed and shoved Adam back, hard, so he fell, sprawling on the carpet. "If you really meant that, you would have stopped this," he said confidently. "If you didn't want to get hurt, you'd never have gone to that club tonight."

He followed Adam down, one knee on the floor, the other pressed into Adam's throat. He watched Adam swallow, fascinated. "So here are the choices, the way I see it. You can go out every night and act like a total slut and have no one around anymore to watch your back, to remind you to use condoms, to make sure your drinks aren't spiked."

Adam stared up at him and managed a defiant, "Or?"

"Or," Tommy said, "You can suck my cock, and I'll pull your hair the way I know you like it, and you won't _need_ anyone watching your back, because..."

Tommy trailed off; because it occurred to him then that maybe Adam needed someone to protect him from _Tommy_.

"Please," Adam was saying. "Yes, please, Tommy, I'm sorry."

Tommy wanted to stop him, to shut him up and make him get dressed and stand tall and be _Adam_ again, larger-than-life and smirking and immaculate. Instead, he managed to grit out, "Prove it."

When Adam reached for his zipper, something solidified in Tommy, and he hauled Adam up by his hair, pressed his head against his groin, and said "I didn't say you could use your hands." Adam whimpered, but he finished undoing Tommy's zipper with lips and teeth and tongue, and never was Tommy so glad of the impossibility of briefs with the jeans he wore as that moment, because Adam's mouth was fire and sharp bright points of _glorious_ and he couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why he hadn't done this before.


End file.
